


Wishing You Were Somewhere Near

by Pamspamela



Category: Good Omens (TV), Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21694246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pamspamela/pseuds/Pamspamela
Summary: Mr. Ezra Fell was a patron of the Palais Garnier Opera house during the last year that the affair of the Opera Ghost haunted the halls of the building, especially with the matters concerning the young Christine Daae, now on tour to New York. While there are many tales spoken of the Phantom, Mr. Ezra Fell claims to have the whole truth.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

“IN WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THIS SINGULAR WORK INFORMS THE READER HOW HE ACQUIRED THE CERTAINTY THAT THE OPERA GHOST REALLY EXISTED

The Opera ghost really existed. He was not, as was long believed, a creature of the imagination of the artists, the superstition of the managers, or a product of the absurd and impressionable brains of the young ladies of the ballet, their mothers, the box-keepers, the cloak-room attendants or the concierge. Yes, he existed...”

“Just a man, like any other.” The man carefully lifted the delicate teacup, his excellently manicured hands had never seen a day of hard work in life. “He had no magical powers, no curses, nothing of that sort.” He smiled behind the cup, blue eyes a bit coy as he looked away, “He was trying to save the Opera house, just as I was. It was getting rather dreadful there, what with the corruption of the past managers... He never truly wished to hurt anybody.” 

He took a measured drink of the tea and set down the teacup with the softest clink against the saucer, folding his hands in his lap. “I’m hoping that through this conversation, Monsieur Leroux, that we can clarify the truth of the Opera House. I do not believe in slandering those that are truly kind.” He smirked, in a way that seemed mischievous but was difficult to reconcile with his otherwise cherubic features. “Although I was not there when all the rumors of the Opera Ghost began, I was there during the most heated moments, especially concerning little Christine.”

“Many people died in those last couple of years, Mr. Fell. Are you saying that it was all merely... Convenient accidents? That the Opera Ghost was just a scapegoat?"

“Well, maybe not precisely, but..” Mr. Fell sighed softly, and straightened his waistcoat “Oh bother, I think, perhaps, it would be better to start from the beginning. I moved to Paris in 1879, from London”


	2. Chapter 2

_ Paris, 1879 _

It was early afternoon of late summer when he arrived in Paris, where he would begin his new assignment, having survived the rough boat ride and luxurious train trip. Well, “assignment” was a loose term. While sending up a report to Heaven, he had learned that they were planning on arranging a fire at the lovely Palais Garnier Opera house, a mere twenty years after it had finished construction (he had a secret bit of pride, having influenced the builders with holiness, dedicating the music to the Lord). Unfortunately, despite the goodness crafted into the building, it had already received a reputation as hiding behind the glitz of performance and song indulgences in all sorts of unholy matters, not to mention that a demon had taken up residence in the secret subterranean basements. Which, that rumor concerned Aziraphale more than the report of general human nature. Although he had spent most of his existence dealing with one demon in particular, his time meeting the other fallen was unpleasant, to say the least. They all wished to cause the most damage in the shortest amount of time possible, with no recognition for the long term. His side was not much better, if he really considered. He had been fortunate enough to never need to actually smite them, as Crowley always managed to show up just in time.

He made his way to his flat on Rue de Rivoli, which really was much bigger than Aziraphale needed to work with. But he had convinced himself that in order to ingratiate himself to those important in the Opera, he best pose as somebody worth spending time on, somebody worth inviting to all of the intimate meetings. Which translated to, he needed to show he had money. And lots of it. The corruption of the last managers of the Opera house caused them to hemorrhage funds at an alarming rate; bribing officials to ignore the structural issues of the house, expensive advertisements, using the private spaces to hold more ‘sordid’ affairs... It all painted a rather bleak picture. Yet Aziraphale knew that, with just a bit of encouragement and light, they would become a beacon to the rest of the continent, with magnificent performances that would go down in history!

His flat was ornate, and one of fashion. He possessed a live-in manservant, a parlor, dining room, living room, a modest library (of which Aziraphale furnished with a mixture of respectable classics and new popular plays), kitchen, and a bedroom. He certainly hoped he would not have to entertain regularly here. Not that it was a bad space, but it was certainly a hollow one. Not well loved like his bookshop. It was the modern sort of place that Crowley would have been a fan of. All dark colors in the walls, a sort of moody atmosphere that was found fashionable as of late.

As he stood in front of the large mirror in his flat, he took a couple deep breaths. His clothes were the same as they always were, soft cream suits with matching pale yellow bowties, yet he was not to be Principality Aziraphale. He was to be an eccentric bachelor, Ezra Fell, married only to the muse of performance through support of musicians, playwrights, and painters alike. Rich from... Some business in Asia, regarding tea. Nobody ever really cared where the money came from, only that they got it. Still, best to have bases covered and appear as legitimate as possible, in case somebody went around asking too many questions. A trick he learned from Crowley, to ensure the mortals would not get suspicious. Oh, Crowley...

Crowley had popped in to save him in the Bastille nearly a century ago, the last time Aziraphale had been to Paris. They had a lovely time eating crepes after that fiasco, and they spent a decade seeing each other fairly regularly, more frequently than ever before. But then in January of 1800, Crowley announced a decision to see how long he could stay asleep for, try and break his previous record of 5 months after the horrors of the Spanish Inquisition. Aziraphale, of course, would do occasional temptations for him to ensure he remained undisturbed from below, and managed a couple of business ventures for the demon. It had been 79 years since he had disappeared though, without any sort of word on his whereabouts. Crowley never gave him an address to where he slept.

A small, tiny piece in Aziraphale’s spirit secretly resented the demon for vanishing, for indulging so long in sleep. Even though he often dragged Crowley to restaurants, where he’d partake of meals for hours on end, at least they did it together. Crowley’s sleeping was entirely solitary, and rather selfish. He was a demon, after all, and Aziraphale should not have expected any differently.

Aziraphale snapped himself out of his thoughts. No use in dwelling who was not here. Tugging a bit on the edge of his waistcoat and flattening an invisible wrinkle, he nodded as his reflection, then going to sit at the fine mahogany desk in his room, to draft a letter arranging introduction to the two new managers of the opera house, Mr. Armand Moncharmin and Mr. Firmin Richard. Both regularly attended church the weeks before and after Christmas, but otherwise remained solely in the material world. Neither had a record of abject corruption, however, and Aziraphale knew with a couple of well placed miracles they would be inspired back to the divine.

After taking the week to settle himself into the “polite” company of Paris, he finally made his way to the Opera House. Hailing a cab, he had one last matter to deal with. He looked down at his ring, carefully focusing on the gleaming gold, and felt himself grow heavier, just a bit. If a demon truly did haunt the Opera, it was best to maintain as low a profile as possible. With his grace dampened, nobody occult would be able to discern him from another human. He would still be able to perform miracles but it would certainly take more effort and focus. All sealed behind his ring.

As he arrived at the Opera House, he stopped halfway out of the carriage. He was expecting something... Spooky. An overwhelming sense of dread, perhaps. Even just a bit of unsettlement. Yet it felt just like any other performance hall he had been to in the past, a miasma of good and bad. 

So, frighteningly normal.

He would have to maintain his best guard.

Aziraphale exited the carriage, presenting the driver a generous tip, and shuffled into the building, into a stunning portico. Pure white pillars held up the high ceiling, as green marble steps led further inside. Golden figures of cherubs and harps decorated the exterior, recently washed clean, gleaming in the afternoon light. He wandered further in, to see the room bustling with activity, as servants flitted around, hanging flowers around, satin being draped just so, tall mirrors being polished, and huge frescoes everywhere he glanced having just the last specks of dust brushed away. The ceiling was tastefully gilded, with painting of cherubs dancing in the sky. For just a moment, his breath was taken away. This place was beautiful, how could Heaven wish to destroy it?

“Ah, Mr. Fell, I presume?” A voice across the hall called to him in English, and he spun around to see a middle aged man, tall, hair dark gray curls styled just so, and face lined with years of smiling as the joy of the arts often did to one's complexion. He was skinny, nearing gaunt in the same way Crowley had, yet was so full of human life.... Aziraphale could feel the glee radiating off of the man, and weaved his way through the people towards him.

“Ah, yes, that is me! Mr. Ezra Fell. And whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to, Monsieur Moncharimin or--”

“Please, just call me Firmin. And call him Armand.” Firmin offered a polite hand, which Aziraphale shook “Follow me, it is much quieter in my office”Aziraphale smiled, removing his hat and following him back to an office, which was much easier to hold a normal conversation away from the bustle of servants, “Now forgive my directness but... What made you decide to give us patronage?”

“Well, my business brings me to Paris for an extended period of time. I had regularly attending shows at the Royal Opera House back in London, and merely wished to continue seeing such fine performances. In fact, I am very pleased to see the performance of Carlotta Giudcelli again! She sang beautifully in Smentana’s ‘Two Widows’.” She was a fiery redhead of a girl, sometimes allowing herself to get caught up in the limelight to overperform, but her vocals did almost match her ego.

Firmin grimaced as he motioned for Aziraphale to sit “Ah, shame. She has fallen very suddenly ill, so she shall not be performing tonight.” He went to his desk, where he pulled out a rather nice looking white wine. He carefully poured two glasses, and offered one to Aziraphale. He never did really like the whites, but he certainly could not be rude, “It all came upon her rather suddenly, yesterday she was fine, but today she can hardly speak! I can only hope that her understudy, Christine Daae, can perform.” He leaned against the desk, taking a quiet sip.

“That is dreadful.” Aziraphale mentally noted to himself to go check on the girl, to ensure she had not been struck by something demonic. A demon would love to discourage the two new managers, to keep the opera on a path to destruction. Aziraphale could not allow that to happen. “I am sure Miss Daae will perform wonderfully!”

Their discussion continued, where Aziraphale revealed very little of himself while Firmin seemed content to chat his ear off. He learned all about the man’s compositions(eager to have his works performed here), and how the partnership with Armand was supposed to be the work of two opposite individuals hoping to understand the two sides of managing an opera house like this. Armand oversaw the business side of affairs (he could hardly keep a note), while Firmin would see that the performances would be up to snuff. "Opposites attract, do they not?" Firmin remarked, which Aziraphale only responded with a tight smile and nod.

The man Aziraphale assumed to be Armand came in after a while, with a broad grin on his face, and spoke in quick French “Firmin! Everything is going perfectly!” Firmin lit up, and ran over to give him a firm embrace “Nobody has cancelled their tickets, Miss Daae is costumed, and not a single dish has been broken yet!” He pulled away, and turned to Aziraphale, switching to a much slower English “Oh, are you...”

“Mr. Ezra Fell, yes. A-and I do speak French also!”

Aziraphale offered a hand, but Armand pulled him into a strong hug. Armand seemed to be an opposite of Firmin in many ways, but could see they carried a similar passion. He was short and round, with brown hair beginning to bald at the top. Yet he too carried the same glee that Firmin did, and both their passions together fueled a general sense of belief that maybe their future business could work. “So good to see you! I am sure Firmin has been talking your ears off.”

Aziraphale wiggled free from the man, straightening out himself once more. “Ah, we have been swapping stories of different shows we have seen, yes.” 

“Well, I am here to rescue you from such a bore." Firmin lightly swatted his arm, "People are starting to arrive and take their seats.”

“Ah, and where am I to be seated?”

Armand went over to his desk, a sturdy dark wood, and pushed through a couple of papers “Hm.. You are a man of logic, yes?”

Aziraphale blinked at that “I suppose as much as one can be?”

“There is just...” He stifled a laugh “Well, there has been a rumor that there is a ghost, here in the opera house! The previous managers left behind a note to keep box five open, but...” He got a glint in his eyes as he looked up “It is a rather nice space, on the grand-tier to the left. I think you should be the one to have it.” He crossed out the O.G. written in the space, replacing it with Ezra Fell. 

Aziraphale did feel just a bit nervous. He could only assume that this spectre was the demon lurking around the place. Taking his box, it seemed like he was almost begging for the attention, declaring immediate conflict. Still, he could not establish himself as the weaker party, and certainly not as a superstitious person that the managers did not trust “Sounds perfect to me!” Best to make a strong statement, than none at all.

Aziraphale left the office a few minutes later, allowing the men to continue discussing logistics for the gala tonight. He wandered around quietly, greeting people who approached him but otherwise kept to himself. He could not risk allowing himself to get discovered on the first night, so he had to investigate the old fashioned way. He walked along doorways and by mirrors, trying to find any sorts of marking to indicate curses placed on the building, but strangely only found one mark of protection above the doorway of his box. Whatever the demon was doing certainly meant his powers alone were strong enough to cause such misfortune. Aziraphale carefully settled himself in his seat, across from the brand new sparkling electric chandelier, and waited for the curtains to rise.

"Seems as though you were rather fortunate, getting so quickly into the graces of the managers. I heard that Firmin could be quite a... Unique individual with his interests."

Mr. Fell shrugged slightly "I found him rather pleasant. We shared similar tastes for music and literature, his company was enjoyable."

"So, you watched Miss Daae's first performance."

"Oh yes! I remember it perfectly."


	3. Chapter 3

The show was a resounding triumph! Christine Daae performed close to perfection, and Aziraphale only got a slightly disturbed feeling at the end, some minor demonic energy, when the poor girl turned white as a sheet and immediate passed out in the arms of a nearby ballet dancer. Her voice had rivaled some of the choirs above, and as Aziraphale left he realized perhaps maybe too closely. Best to go check on her!  
Above her doorway was also a symbol of protection, that made Aziraphale feel a bit fuzzy as he pushed his way forward. He was not the only one concerned about her, or at the very least curious of this new girl on the scene. She appeared barely 16, and laid rather still on her couch there. A physician was nearby, laying cold clothes across her forehead. Aziraphale cleared his throat, and in the best French he could muster, “Don’t you think, doctor, that it is a bit crowded in here? Should not the rest of these gentlemen clear the room?” He pressed a bit of magic into his words; normally he abstained from such overt manipulation, yet it was important for him to look over the girl.  
The doctor looked up at him and nodded, shooing away everybody save for Aziraphale. Aziraphale went and kneeled next to the young girl, reaching out ever so slightly with his powers to bring her back to consciousness. She coughed softly, and looked over to Aziraphale with confusion “Monsieur?.. Who are you?”  
Aziraphale felt his face flush, and he tugged his coat “Ah, I simple was erm. Well you were just, I saw you...” He fumbled a bit over his words, searching for something to answer with “I wished to ensure you were alright, after watching you faint. It was a rather divine performance you gave there.” He glanced around the room, and realized if he were to tell if she were actually under a demon’s control he would need time with her, “I was hoping I could discuss something with you? In private?”  
She gave a weak smile, and sat up a bit “When I feel better.”  
The doctor nodded softly “Yes, you should go, leave the girl to rest. I shall look over her”  
Christine sat up further, and with an odd clarity spoke “No, I am fine. I do not feel weak anymore.” Both Aziraphale and the doctor tried to protest, but shook her head still, wiping a hand over her face “I wish to be alone now, go away all of you!”  
The two men exited the room, and the doctor leaned over to Aziraphale “She normally is much kinder. I would guess that the stress of the evening got to her.” And he left down the hall, towards where the ballet girls were.  
Aziraphale, of course, could not simply leave her alone. She was extremely vulnerable right now! Surely the demon would want to come to her now, in her weakest moment.  
He leaned against the door, and heard a soft low voice speak “That was your best performance yet...” Slow and deliberate, a purr almost.  
“Tonight I bared my soul for the world... Oh I am now dead!”  
The man scoffed softly “A soul is a precious thing, child. Angels would weep if your were to sing no more.” Aziraphale heard a... joke in his voice? It was strange that this demon seemed so... Concerned for her.  
He heard them speak no more, so he scrambled around to a corner down the hall, and waited. She left bundled up tightly, in a heavy coat. Aziraphale waited for her to leave, then went inside her room to investigate further.  
Aziraphale muttered softly “Let there be light” and the room illuminated dimly. It was modestly decorated, with a large closet against one wall. He opened the door, and felt around inside, however there seemed to be no secret panel or doors there. Of course a demon could teleport in and out, but surely he would have felt that? A bit defeated, he extinguished the light and left the room, placing his hat back upon his head.   
He walked down the staircase, really quite unsure where he was now, when he saw a group of workmen walking with a stretcher, a white sheet laid on top of it. “Um, excuse me sirs? Which way is out?”  
One of them jerked a head, “That way. But let us pass first.”  
Aziraphale motioned to the stretcher, a sense of dread building in his stomach “And, uh, what is that?”  
“‘That’ is Joseph Buquet, who was found in the third cellar, hanging between a farm-house and a scene from the Roi De Lahore."  
Aziraphale removed his hat and let them pass with silent prayer for the man’s soul.

“And so that was the first time you dealt with the Phantom?”

Mr. Fell nodded, refilling his cup.“It was, at least that I had known about...” There was something more in his words, but before he could be interrupted he continued “At that time I could only make the logical connection, that he somehow convinced Miss Daae of some sort of 'magical powers'. Words can be rather powerful.” He hummed softly as his held the warm cup between his hands “I was dreadfully worried for the poor girl. I learned later she had only just recently lost her father. Imagine that! Finally having your breakthrough, with none of your family there.” He tutted and shook his head “Dreadful. I do understand why she placed so much of her faith with the Phantom. It is hard, with none to guide you in this world, especially the pitfalls of the opera”  
“So then what did you do after that?”  
“Well I went to Armand and Firmin right away, where we....”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This was a self indulgent summer project that I am just now getting around to posting. Just an fyi, this is based far more heavily on the book version of the plot. Also, I do lift some scene directly from the book. I'll be posting little chunks at a time. Also, I'm going to warn you right now that this is focused a lot on Aziraphale and his interactions with mortals.


End file.
